Ballroom Dancers

                     I
The music and the dancer
Are locked in cooperative seperation.

The art of movement, I suppose,
Is practiced everyday
Walking down the street.
One, two, three.
One, two, three.

But what a delicate frame the dancer is afforded
When that song begins to play.

"Won't you take me away, sweet music, take me away."

The well trained dancer begins to breathe
In time;

The subtle movement of the perfect dancer.
In time

Every nerve will heave,
Or retreat.

Listening, the music is the lead.
Then comes he,
Then she.

True power is in passivity,
Patience is the tree.

The fruit you will see, in her.
The simple twirl,
Smiling girl, perfect feet.


                     II
There are ones who like to be exploding,
What a welcome place
the dance floor is.
Come, and do as you please,
It is afforded.

But the way that one begins to swing,
Each movement chosen,
Trained, unassuming,
Clean.

I heard all of my life echoed in the band and the music that night,
Evolving into sight, rumbling, lithe body in flight.

Perfect Unity,

With the dancer,
       the music,
       and me.

Perfect Unity,

Within the dancer,
          the music,
          and me.